A Work Of Art
by AngelxPhoenix
Summary: After sealing the rift and trapping himself in another dimension, Crowley gets the chance to observe humanity. (Crowley x plus-sized OC)


**I got a trope mashup** **request on Tumblr for a war AU + blind date and this kinda worked. Enjoy!**

There was always a loophole, even if you had to go to an alternate universe to find it. And while the so-called "apocalypse world" had several obvious drawbacks, Crowley wasn't about to complain when the alternative meant death.

He still couldn't quite believe that stroke of luck, though he'd never admit it, that not only did he find a world without the bloody Winchesters, but that he had a counterpart there. A counterpart, moreover, stuck in the middle of an angel war who hated angels even more than he did. That bloke was only too ready to bait-and-switch and provide the life needed to seal the rift. Even seemed thrilled to do so.

And Crowley thought he hated _his_ world.

All in all, he'd been stuck in worse predicaments and still came out on top. He would lay low for now, figure out how to turn this to his advantage, get back to being one of the major players on the stage.

At the moment, of course, it looked like he would bide his time for awhile, hiding out in some pathetic camp a group of humans had thrown together and gathering news. Michael was carrying out his deadbeat daddy's plan to go Revelation on the planet, mankind being the plucky, stupid bastards they were had decided to make a stand, Jon was drinking on watch again, Kara and Andy were fooling around when they thought no one knew–plot twist, _everyone_ knew–Meagan was ducking out of her share of work around camp, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda, the same petty human nonsense that had kept him in business for centuries.

The inane stupidity of it had him rethinking his noble sacrifice at the rift…but with nothing else to do, it was cheap entertainment. And–though he'd _never_ admit it–he had become invested in the story lines like a damned daytime soap opera.

His current favorite was a classic. Romance in a time of war and death. Usually endearing, often futile, and a reliable distraction.

She had a secret admirer, and at first she seemed suspicious of the notes left with her belongings, and Crowley could guess why, poor thing. Beauty standards were harsh no matter the universe, and based on her reactions to the first few missives, she had always been too big to fit the ideal type. Likely bullied, ridiculed, and looked down upon, it was a character study to watch her whenever the mysterious notes appeared. Doubtful, disbelieving, angry, dismissive…slowly evolving into hopeful and amazed.

When he was still working the crossroads, he had made deals with others like her. _I want to be thin…I want to be pretty_… Society had done a good job of making the two interchangeable and he had profited off their insecurities as much as the beauty industry. It always took them awhile to adjust to the attention, to believe the admiration was genuine, the praise sincere, unlearning years of mockery and abuse that gave them such a poor image of themselves. He had always found it bordering on pathetic, but he never had a front row seat for it before.

Maybe he had gotten more sentimental in recent years, but it was hard to be that close and feel nothing, to watch as she tried to brush it off, no doubt believing it was all a prank on the fat girl, but started to wonder, to hope that it was all real. That someone thought she was beautiful. He couldn't miss the eagerness on her face as she checked her possessions for another token from her admirer, or the happiness when she read the latest note. It was… It was…

Touching. Dare he say…_inspirational_.

He had lost track of his time with the camp when she got _the_ note. Her eyes widened as she read, and she stared at the page in utter shock for a solid minute before she looked up, head turning left and right as she surveyed her fellow survivors. She looked back at the note and read it again, a shy smile stealing across her face, and she quickly tucked it back into her bag before hurrying away back to work.

Crowley looked around for witnesses before sneaking over and fetching the note. It didn't take long to skim the contents.

_Hi sweetheart,_

_Remember when I said I wasn't sure if I wanted you to know who I was? I've loved making you happy with a few notes and seeing you wonder who cares about you so much, but I think I'm tired of being the guy that admires you from a distance. Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone, especially these days, and I'd rather be by your side while I can. If it's all right with you, meet me by the beech tree outside camp after dinner. I'll be waiting for you, beautiful._

_Someone who cares_

Well. It was hard to say what the cheese to corn ratio was, but it was one of the cheesiest, corniest things Crowley had read in a good while. And a tad creepy. And it sounded like a scam. And as one of Hell's greatest businessmen, he knew a thing or two about scams.

He hadn't concerned himself with the identity of the letter writer–why ruin the mystery for the audience?–but he kept a close watch on the entire camp for the rest of the day, searching one face after another and suspicious of what he saw. One of these stupid, plucky bastards was cruel indeed, if he knew anything about human nature. And the more he kept an eye on her and saw the look of anticipation on her face, the more annoyed he got with the whole charade.

The sun began to set and the camp settled into the last, carefully-rationed meal of the day, and Crowley was nowhere closer to the letter writer. But when he saw her get to her feet and head off into the trees on her own, he was too invested not to follow. It was a short walk to the beech tree, and she was already waiting, leaning against the tree with her arms folded against the evening chill and looking expectant and nervous. Crowley took up a hiding place behind a nearby oak, and they waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

She started to fidget restlessly, peering more and more anxiously through the gloom, and Crowley kept alert for any movement in the trees, ready for the author of the night's adventure to appear. And the longer they waited, the more obvious no one was coming.

She didn't give up, still holding onto hope, but she seemed to diminish, head hanging and shoulders sagging. And though he'd never, _ever_, admit it, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. All the effort it took to believe everything those notes were telling her, letting herself buy into the fantasy a little more at a time, and it was all undone in one night.

At the first muffled sound of tears, he stepped out from his hiding place before he could reconsider. "Sorry I'm late," he said, moving towards her, "had to give a report and it took longer than I thought to get away."

She looked confused, the disappointment still frozen on her face.

He slowed his pace, letting some uncertainty show. "Were you…expecting someone in particular?" he asked, trying for politely awkward.

"No," she replied, "not…not _really_, it's just…I don't think I know you. I mean, I've seen you at camp, but I–"

"Oh, well, I haven't been around long," he explained. "I've been in covert ops since I got here."

"Oh."

He took a few more cautious steps forward. "I'm Crowley," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you properly."

"Yes," she agreed, taking the hand he offered and smiling as he laid a kiss on her knuckles. Gallant gesture. Worked every time. "It's nice to meet you."

Make a deal, keep it. His hard and fast rule. And the smile on her face? A lovely reward. He cast his eyes over her full figure; how fickle humanity was, deciding who deserved favor and who should be ostracized. In another century, _she_ would have been the ideal. A goddess. She was lovely as she was, if anyone thought to ask his opinion, but of course he was a raging deviant and not to be trusted.

Or so he had heard.

Either way, it was about time this woman got the admiration she deserved, as she had been _promised_, and resolving to do a far better job of wooing her than whoever it was who tried to disappoint her, and said, "Forgive my forwardness, but you're even more a vision than I first believed."

"Really?" There was a note in her voice that sounded too clearly how much she hoped he was telling the truth, and while the truth was simple enough, he might as well add a little poetry.

"I feel like I never did you justice," he insisted. "There are some works of art you can't fully appreciate until you see the finer details up close."

It was dark, but he saw the shy, pleased expression on her face and he turned up the charm a little more. He offered her his arm and said, "Shall we walk?"

So _maybe_ he was going soft lately. But he had always hated a bad deal, and he had grown to enjoy being the good guy.

Besides, who _didn't_ love a happy ending?

**Leave me some love!**


End file.
